


All You Can Do

by CatHeights



Category: Oz (1997)
Genre: M/M, season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-10-03
Updated: 2004-10-03
Packaged: 2017-10-05 15:52:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatHeights/pseuds/CatHeights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beecher grieves for his son, and Keller finds there is very little he can do to help. Written for the second Secret Identities challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All You Can Do

  


Harsh panting and the sound of movement against sheets penetrated his rest. Half asleep, Chris grinned waiting for the wild, sex-laden images that usually populated such a dream, except the images didn't come, and he wasn't hard. Chris opened his eyes. He could still hear the panting, but it sounded more like someone was in pain than aroused. And what the fuck was that ripping sound?

Beecher? Of course he got no answer. Chris stood and looked at the top bunk.

_Oh shit!_

Beecher, his hair wild and face flushed, sat on the bed tearing a piece of what was once a sheet. Shreds of bedding lay across his lap and covered a good bit of the bunk. Panting heavily, Beecher dropped the tattered fragment and reached for his pillow. He yanked off the pillowcase and began to give it short, sharp tugs.

Chris stared at the remains of the torn sheet, noticing the variations in size, everything from small bits to large chunks. He remembered before he'd gotten shot Toby joking that the sheets were so damn thin that someday they'd fall apart in the wash. Toby had even pointed out a few small holes. Chris guessed he'd decided to save the washer some work and enlarge a few of those holes, but why? He was almost afraid to ask.

The pillowcase proved to be a tougher opponent. Angry red veins laced Beecher's arms as he grunted and tried to make the first rip.

Toby, come on. Stop. Chris reached out to lay a comforting hand on Beecher's arm, but his hand was batted away with a growl. Teeth bared, Beecher resembled a feral animal.

With a sigh and a shake of his head, Chris gave up. He crossed his arms over his chest and watched as Beecher tried to continue his spree of destruction. Maybe this would help, nothing else had.

The day Toby learned that his son's hand had been sent to him, he had spent the evening howling his agony. The sound of his pain had been so chilling that Chris had thought he must still be in Hell because this had to be the ultimate punishment, hearing Toby's pain and being able to do nothing. But ever since that night Toby had been quiet and withdrawn, remaining curled in the corner of his bunk unless forced to move. At least this was a reaction.

Chris wished he knew what he could do to help. If there were someone to whack or threaten, it'd be done. He was sure Schillinger had to be involved, but any move he made would only put Toby's daughter's life at risk  if she was even alive. _Christ_. He had tried to comfort Toby, but all his attempts had been turned away.

So, now he stood here watching Beecher try to destroy a pillowcase because the vigil made him feel like he was doing something, even if it was a pathetic something. He thought he heard a rip, but the pillowcase remained intact.

Beecher continued to struggle with it, muttering as his tugs proved ineffectual. The pillowcase began to shake, a slight flutter that quickly became a violent waving. Still panting, Beecher tossed it aside and stared at the vibration of his hands.

For several minutes, Beecher just sat there amidst the destroyed fabric while Chris watched him. Chris tried to make his gaze soothing. Perhaps he was successful as Toby kept looking up and with each glance his panting and shaking seemed to decrease.

Eventually Toby's breathing calmed. With a frown, he brushed the mess off his lap, and then slid down from the bunk. His gaze on the floor, he walked past Chris without uttering a word.

Chris kept his silent vigil, watching as Toby washed his hands. He thought he saw blood, but it was hard to be sure in the darkened pod. Toby scrubbed his hands for so long that Chris swore there would be no skin left. Eventually, though, he turned off the water and grabbed the sides of the sink. He let out a short gasp, like a smothered hiccup, and then another.

The sound drew Chris to Toby. He placed his hand lightly on Beecher's shoulder, expecting a withdrawal, but Beecher turned and collapsed against him. Raising his wet fist, Beecher began to pound it against Chris's chest. While solid, the blows lacked real force. Chris wrapped his arms around Toby, holding him upright and letting him rain blows of frustration.

This he could do.

The blows stopped. Toby's hand flatted against Chris's chest, fingers stretching. His palm soothed the skin he'd recently abused.

Doubtful that Toby could remain standing for much longer, Chris guided him toward the bottom bunk. Once inside, he pulled Toby underneath the sheet. Toby laid his hand on Chris's chest and then rested his head beside it.

Chris said nothing as he rubbed Beecher's back. Words hadn't helped before. What could you say that would help something like this? Within minutes, Toby's body felt like a dead weight sprawled across him. He had to be exhausted. Chris placed a kiss on Toby's head.

God help any hack who tried to separate them tonight.

Even though he was sure Beecher was asleep, he didn't stop stroking his back. Maybe the touch would keep away Toby's nightmares, and at the very least, he found it soothing. Chris remained awake for a while watching to make sure Beecher was sleeping quietly. Eventually, though, he dozed off, the stroking of his hand stilling.

**COUNT!**

The sound of the buzzer and shout of the hack shocked Chris into wakefulness. His heart pounded. What the fuck? The call of count never surprised him. His hand touched the side of the bunk. It took a moment for his mind to inform him that something wasn't right. Beecher was gone.

Chris quickly got out of the bunk. His gaze found Beecher pressed into a corner, the night's destruction surrounding him.

Toby. Chris's stomach turned when Beecher didn't answer, he just stared at the bed. The hand he reached out with was shied away from, and Chris sighed. Last night's connection was gone.

How was he supposed to handle this? Chris couldn't remember the last time he had wanted to help someone so badly. He couldn't stand to see Toby hurting, but all he could do was watch and offer the comfort of his touch, when it was wanted. It seemed like he was doing fucking nothing.

The hacks were making their way down the line, and Chris stepped outside determined to keep those assholes from bothering Beecher. This was something else he could do. He gave a glance back inside. Maybe he could also manage to get Toby some new sheets without anyone making a fuss. Little things, goddamn, fucking little things were all he could do.

Keller leaned back against the pod door, glaring. No one was getting through to Toby. Not while he was here.

He'd do whatever he could.


End file.
